Savage Devotions: The Vampire Hunters of Prague
by Ligeia
Summary: Children are missing in the ancient city but this time Drusilla has bitten off more than she can chew.
1. Default Chapter

**Title: Savage Devotions: The Vampire Hunters of Prague.**

**Author: Ligeia**

Series: The Devotionals (Pre-Sunnydale Spike and Dru)

Rating: Let's say PG –15 for disturbing themes and a little violence (although I was reading lots bloodier stuff than this by then!) Enjoy.

Disclaimer: The usual. Spike and Dru are Joss's. Original characters are mine, all mine!

Note: By the way, if you're looking for a face to put to the old man in this story – I'm thinking Martin Landau would have been the obvious (if slightly twisted!) choice if this character had been cast on the show. This fic was written for the Buffyverse Lyric Wheel. The lyrics are found at the end of the last part.

**Savage Devotions: The Vampire Hunters of Prague by Ligeia.**

**Part 1.**

The night orderly handed the cabbie the last of the old man's luggage, two ancient and battered leather suitcases held together by broad straps and good brass locks, while the old fellow carried his own precious brown Gladstone bag, refusing to allow anyone else to even touch it. The orderly sighed as the driver closed the boot of the black taxi and wondered if the soon to be former patient was quite capable of living outside of the institution that had been his home and hospice for almost forty years. As a voluntary in-patient the old man was perfectly within his rights to sign himself out at any time; in fact he had proven himself to be a model inmate, helpful, softly-spoken, literate and generally loved by all, staff and patients alike. They would be sorry to see him go, the orderly reflected, and surprised to find out in the morning that the old man's self-imposed residency at St Jerome's Private Psychiatric Facility had finally come to an end after all these years. And in the middle of the night no less! Shaking his head but forcing a smile he helped the old man into the car, carefully closed the door and stepped back as it circled around in front of the administration building then headed down the driveway and out through the arched main gate to merge with the flow of London's evening traffic.

Without a single backward glance at the halls and gardens of the clinic that had provided him with physical lodgings and spiritual sanctuary for most of his adult life, the old man leaned forward to utter the only word he would speak during the entire journey, 'Heathrow.' On the way to the airport they passed the shell of an old red brick building, an abandoned storehouse of some kind with a vacant lot on one side, a decrepit two storey semi-detached residence on the other and suddenly he was there again on the stoop of the old house in the East End sitting beside his little sister as they waited together for their parents to come home.

The desecrated chapel stood in an almost deserted part of the city, the exterior awash with a rainbow of graffiti which, Spike mused, seemed to look the same no matter what language was represented by the colourful scrawl. Tiles from the roof and glass from the lower windows littered the ground outside and the unmown churchyard was dotted with blackberry bushes and wild untended roses. A few blocks away, nearer the inhabited suburbs, was a school from which the sounds of children drifted, flowing in to fill the silences of the old church and soothe the drowsing Drusilla throughout the long day.

Spike usually rose first, around mid afternoon when the strongest of the sunlight had passed over the church and the shadows had just begun to lengthen. A cigarette or two and it would be time for Dru to stir.

After climbing the narrow wooden stairs the old man rested a moment, leaning a brown paper bag full of groceries against the peeling paint of the wall while he turned the key in the lock of the cheap hotel room. The paint on the door might once have been green – or perhaps grey – but like most of the fittings and furnishings, indeed, like many of the guests themselves, had seen better and more glorious days. The old man muttered then laughed to himself; no matter, he was close now, very close and had only to endure a little longer, to husband his strength and resources until he could consummate this one last undertaking and fulfil the promise he made so very long ago.

Since his arrival in Prague his life had taken on a rhythm that quickly resolved itself into daily ritual. Mornings were spent in the Prague Central Library poring over the English language Czech newspapers and making photocopies of articles that interested him. Afterwards, a short walk to the Franciscan Garden where he ate a meagre lunch of prekvapeni or a kapsa and coffee, then home to wait out the afternoon until sundown when he ventured back out into the streets.

While in England he had taught himself to use the internet in the clinic's reading room, religiously following the on-line news services that had proved so invaluable in tracking down and collating the information he required. He had even registered on several chat rooms, most of which had achieved nothing other than to waste his precious dwindling time on self-styled Satanists and weirdo dilettantes who understood nothing of the reality of the lifestyle they chose to mimic. The object of his search had remained frustratingly elusive, so much so that he had almost given up, resigning himself to living out his final years in abject failure, when a chance reference in the classifieds of the Prague Post had led him to this city less than two months ago.

Here in the ancient city a new group had surfaced, a cabal of men and women who had come together in response to the threat of that very same enemy that he had faced over sixty years ago; an unspeakable evil that had destroyed his innocence and blighted his life. It was within this circle of allies that his best – his only - hope for success now lay. With thin but steady hands he unfolded the most recent copies of the daily and weekly newspapers. Even the international press had recently begun to follow the story that had first attracted his attention in the weeks leading up to his departure from St Jerome's.

As much as he loved Drusilla, Spike enjoyed these quiet moments to himself. Sitting cross-legged on the alter, he drew back on a Gitanes, letting the smoke meander back out through his mouth and nostrils to lose itself in the growing darkness inside the chapel. How long has it been, he thought as the bluish threads unravelled and curled away into the dusky air, how long since I've been able to take a breath that's true?

Behind the alter on a makeshift bed of old vestments, wrapped in a pretty padded quilt stolen from a nearby clothesline Dru shifted in her sleep, whispering to herself as she often did when wakefulness drew near, dragging random thoughts and dream-snatches to the surface to ruffle her consciousness. Spike smiled a little to himself and slipped off the altar. Hunkering down beside his lover's murmuring form, he brushed a stray lock of jet black hair from the ivory skin of her brow, then passed the back of his fingers lightly across the pale flesh again. Dru always took so long to shake off the embrace of the day-sleep; she was never completely alive until the day died away and night held full sway. Tonight, under the ripening moon they would hunt together and the pallid lilies on her cheeks would be transformed into blushing roses.

[continued in part 2 ...]

* * *

Kitten, you wanted Spike and Dru, so here they are! 

Thanks to everyone who read my last fic, and a HUGE thanks to those who reviewed. It's a real buzz to get your feedback, so review me and make a writer happy today!


	2. Part 2

**Savage Devotions: The Vampire Hunters of Prague by Ligeia**

**Part 2.**

For the first time in years he had felt the quickening of his pulse, that thrill of certainty mixed with disgust and a deep sadness that came with the recognition that he was on the right track again at last. For decades he had taken newspapers from all over the world, neatly cutting out certain articles and storing them in his quarters among his regular correspondence then discreetly disposing of the rest of the papers so they could not see which items he had removed. The news of the world kept his mind active he told them, allowed him to journey to distant places from the safety of his room. It wouldn't do, no it wouldn't do at all to let them know that his obsession, the one that drove his friends and family to beg him to commit himself to professional care so long ago, still smouldered. That decision had in time become a blessing; his days and nights could be devoted solely to his crusade without the distraction of society or career. When he came across the series of police reports, the grisly details of which were so hauntingly familiar, he knew that it was time to make his move.

Thanking God for giving him the chance to redeem himself, the opportunity to set things right, he carefully burned all of the news cuttings he had hidden away inside envelopes and between the pages of his books and diaries. If the nurses or orderlies were to find them, well, psychiatric patients - even voluntary ones - who collected clippings of child murders were unlikely to be released under any circumstances. Into his old Gladstone bag he packed the few items from which he could not afford to be separated. All of his savings were kept locked in a small deposit box. His passport, which he kept renewed along with the driver's licence he had but never used, were safe inside his jacket pocket. And from a waterproof bag that he kept wedged beneath the old claw-foot bath in his en suite, the most precious thing of all – an artefact he had kept for all the years of his incarceration – the weapon that would ensure the destruction of the she-wolf who murdered his little sister.

-o-o-o-o-

The Old Town Square was a favourite night-time haunt for the two vampires. Prague's heart for eight hundred years, the street's pastel gingerbread Baroque and neo-Renaissance facades turned to gold under the glow of the streetlamps, its illusive beauty like that of the undead lovers, an exquisite exterior revealing nothing of the crumbling gothic ruins inside. A constant stream of locals and tourists passed by, unconsciously brushing against them, perhaps even smiling at the young couple so obviously enjoying their evening stroll, piquing the senses of the hunting pair and arousing their urge to feed. It was a delicious preliminary to the real thing, whetting their appetites for the kill. And after that, once their physical hunger was sated, other needs would surface. Drusilla would begin to yearn again to fulfil another desire.

Spike put an arm around Dru's waist from behind and pulled her close to him. Leaning against the rough stonework under the double faces of the astronomical clock, he said quietly, 'See anything you like, luv? Anyone take your fancy?'

Drusilla's grey-blue eyes raked the crowd, scanning, alighting, rejecting, until a small tilt of the head told Spike that a likely target had been fixed upon. Dru tensed in his embrace and she began quietly to hum a little tune -

'_When little Baby goes to sleep, and he is very near us,_

_Then on tip-toe softly creep, that Baby may not hear us.'_

- the accompaniment, he recognised, to a decision being made. His gaze followed the direction of hers to a young woman standing by the lit window of a toy store, the display full of colourful wooden marionettes and an old-style train set circling round and round. Tugging on her coat was a small boy three or four years of age obviously entranced by the little green engine, smiling and laughing as his mother ruffled his blond hair and made promises that would now never be kept. As they walked off down the broad street, two figures followed.

-o-o-o-o-

In another part of the Stare Mesto, in the basement of a 17th century mansion long gone to seed, a secret meeting was in progress. Long reconciled to a lonely vigil and likely a violent and horrible death in pursuit of his quarry, the old man's weary heart was warmed by the sight of forty or so people assembled with the self-same resolution burning in their souls – to rid the city of the hellish demoness and her consort. While only a handful of the group spoke any English, their common purpose provided all the understanding necessary as the old man offered up insights gained through years of patient study and a lifetime of aching memories.

Unwrapping the package that he had guarded and concealed from days long before his admittance to St Jerome's, he glanced around him at the eager faces of his new-found comrades, exposing the weapon that would deliver up the beast Drusilla to the vampire hunters of Prague.

-o-o-o-o-

After following the woman and child to their home not far from the Square, Spike gently dragged a reluctant Dru away to hunt for a more substantial meal. She pouted and complained but allowed him to lead her off towards less genteel neighbourhoods, to parts of the city's underbelly where the deaths of one of two members of the fringe element would most likely go unremarked. Spike knew Drusilla would rather have stayed close by the tidy suburban house until the child could be made hers but he also knew from experience that hunger would get the better of her in the end and the child would not last – and then who would be berated for not stemming her impulsiveness?

So now they rested in a park on the corner of the street not far from the little boy's home, sated and mellow, waiting for the last of the house lights to fade to black. Dru sat on wooden swing in the play area, rocking back and forth on her heels to the tune of some long-forgotten children's song while Spike smoked another cigarette, a Gauloise this time, which was all the dead sailor had had in his kit.

Watching Dru, long legged and sweetly flushed from the hunt, he realised that of all the years they had travelled with Angelus and Darla and all the times they had spent apart, he liked it best as it was now - just to two of them together. While the four of them, and occasional temporary additions to the clan, had parted and come together again and again over the decades, the vampire family had finally and irrevocably disbanded after Angelus regained his human soul. Everything changed after that; without Angelus, Darla lost interest in their little dynasty. Playing at being a 'family' was a game to her, like most things, and she had tired of it in the end, including them less and less often in her hunts until, at last, Spike and Dru had drifted away on their own.

Angelus had always preferred to hunt young women and occasionally young men – he was highly attractive to both sexes, charismatic and powerful; Darla liked to draw out the hunt, role-playing everything from lady to saint to whore. Spike liked the danger, to test himself, often engineering situations where he would have to fight his way out, relishing the challenge. He had killed two Slayers and basked in the attention his fame attracted from other vampires they met. Dru, on the other hand, had always had a taste for children, the younger the better. Of all their kills, this brought them the most trouble.

The last light went out upstairs in the house down the street. 'Come on, precious,' he called. 'Time to go.'

-o-o-o-o-

The front pages of the newspapers next morning were blazoned with the headline that none in the city had wanted to see repeated; another child had been taken in the middle of the night. In offices and factories, on public transport and in shops, over the garden fences of Prague the only topic of conversation was 'would this one be found alive?'

Children had gone missing over the past few months; not unusual perhaps in a city of that size except that in each case a tiny drained body was found soon after. But they were not merely bled out and dumped; each small waxen corpse was placed in a tableau, their violated bodies dressed, hair brushed, sometimes in costumes from nursery rhymes, always with dolls or other toys, as though they had just left off playing. White socks and black patent leather shoes were unspotted; each child had been carried there. They looked like dolls themselves then, bloodless and glassy-eyed. Barely noticeable were the two tiny puncture wounds on the throat. From all over the city children had been kidnapped, only to appear days later, their flesh turned to porcelain - broken dolls discarded in lonely parts of the city - on vacant lots, in sheltered corners of parks, the last one on a playground. Hysteria swept Prague.

The old man put down the newspaper. The city was in an uproar but he knew the police would never find the killer. Only he knew who she was. Toys they were, these dead babies, but not for any child, no, nor woman neither. Merciful God, he prayed, let us find the devils this time before it is too late.

[to be continued...]


	3. Part 3

First of all, apologies for the lengthy delay in posting. I just haven't been using for a while, so sorry to anyone following this fic.

It'll be finalised soon in part 4.

**Savage Devotions: The Vampire Hunters of Prague by Ligeia.**

**Part 3.**

'_The night, her sepulchre and shroud, her soul in living tomb of flesh,_

_A huntress, goddess, mistress dark, by blood of lesser souls refreshed._

_The roses wither as she passes, rose on bower and on cheek._

_She tastes each death and never fails to grant each rose eternal sleep.'_

Spike closed the notebook on which he had scribbled the lines and bent over the still form stretched out on the old mattress and bedding that he had dragged down into the tunnel from one of the rooms in the castle above. Few people, even the locals, knew that the network of tunnels under Prague Castle, built by the Communists as access to bomb shelters, extended for miles under the castle grounds. They should be safe there for a while at least.

'Dru,' he whispered, 'baby, everything will be OK. I promise.' With a trembling hand he raised the corner of a blanket and wiped away the perspiration that had pooled on Drusilla's upper lip. Never had he seen her so wan, so unnaturally placid, her skin's former translucent pearly gleam turned ashen and dry. The moon was high and just past full, the third night since the attack and still she had not stirred.

_I used to look to you to see the truth,_ he thought, _the truth of what we are. Now I look to you and I see nothing. Darkness colours your eyes with what's not there._

_Dru?_

_Dru…_

Silence.

Under a moon the colour of fresh bone the vampire-hunters had cornered the two vampires not far from the abandoned church. While the _policejni_ scoured the streets for human killers, the cabal led by the old Englishman sought out the culprits in the dark places of the city. The little boy, who had been missing for over a week, had been found early that morning by the proprietor of a bakery as he loaded fresh loaves into his van. The child was propped in the window of a nearby toy store in the centre of the Old Town Square, for all the world as though playing with a toy train set that was displayed there.

By that evening the old man's group had run the killers to ground. Hopes of surprising them in their lair faded with the daylight but the vampire hunters did not flinch from smashing the oak doors from their hinges and entering the darkened building to confront the monsters in their den.

The old man eagerly pushed past the younger men once they had broken through the door to find both vampires awake and ready to fight for their lives. The blond male reached out to his mate as the female, Drusilla, stepped forward to take a closer look at the old man, managing to draw her away as the rest of the cabal members spilled into the church's main hall. Pointing a long thin finger at the old man, Dru cried out, 'I know you! I remember you!' She threw back her dark head and laughed. 'You're my dolly's brother!' Together, the vampires leapt up to cling to the brick ledge below a partly shattered stained glass window. Using one booted foot, Spike kicked down the rest of the jagged pieces into the church, raising screams and curses as the sharp edges ripped into the flesh of the crowd below.

Dru and Spike jumped from the ledge to the ground outside but a mob had begun to form as the sounds of the church being breached reached neighbouring streets. Encircling the church grounds the angry residents, finally having a target against which to vent their rage and incited by calls from the already bloodied cabal, began to close the distance between themselves and the killers of the city's children. One bear of a man, no doubt used to his bulk alone being sufficient to nullify any opposition, lunged at the much smaller blond but broke off his charge as Spike's face shifted into its vampire aspect. Dru followed suit, the shock proving strong enough to halt the mob in their tracks. The cabal however were not caught so unprepared and surged forward, stakes at the ready, the others quickly recovering themselves and wading into the fray.

The fight was short but brutal. Spike laid about him with the confidence of a wolf among a pack of yapping dogs and the dusty ground was soon soaking up blood from the torn throats and slashed limbs of the fallen. Drusilla laughed crazily as she snapped the neck of one of the female cabal members then spared a glance for Spike, revelling in the sight of her champion, her golden-haired Childe, snarling and tearing his way joyously through the fast decreasing throng.

The courage and determination of the mob began to falter as some individuals turned tail and ran, leaving a break in ring of bodies enclosing the vampires. Barely glancing behind him, Spike grasped Dru by the hand and began to haul her after him though the rift, paying no attention at all to the shouted cry of the old Englishmen whom Drusilla had seemed to recognise inside the chapel. But before they had gone more than a few steps, he felt Dru stiffen and balk. Spike swung around to see what the matter was but Dru was looking away from him staring fixedly back at the old man. He too stared, unblinking, at her, both of them seemingly locked in the moment, the entire focus of each other's universe. 'Dru!' Spike yelled. 'Come on!' He spun her around to face him then groaned in horror and dismay at the long silver implement protruding from between her eyes. He watched with growing alarm as she reached up to pull the metal stake from her forehead, leaving a gaping wound slowly leaking black blood down her face and onto the ground. As he swooped her up into his arms he could feel her thin body start to shiver and convulse. Roaring his outrage, he ran towards the mob who, in stunned silence, parted to let him by.

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to be finalised in part 4 feedback is always desired! 


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